


Keloid

by eleutheria_has_won



Series: Bondmates AU [2]
Category: The Underland Chronicles - Suzanne Collins
Genre: Flashbacks, Gen, PTSD, So I wrote more of this, Trauma, Twitchtip lives, war buddies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-01
Updated: 2014-07-01
Packaged: 2018-02-06 22:42:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1875177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eleutheria_has_won/pseuds/eleutheria_has_won
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Healing is a word filled with positive connotations. No one ever mentions how slow it is, or how painful along the way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Keloid

**Author's Note:**

> Mature because some seriously whacked-out bad stuff happens in the Underland Chronicles, and I'm writing pretty in detail about some of it. If you trigger easily, maybe reconsider. :/

keloid (n.) the painful, restricting scars which grow over injured skin and can appear cancerous; treatment is slow, but still possible

 

_Gregor._

Gregor couldn’t hear the voice. The taste of blood in his mouth, the roar of the flames, the blinding pain of his ribs, the screaming drove it from his ears. In front of his eyes, he could see - he could almost see

_Gregor!_

white fur stained red, the enormous hairless tail driving him off of Ares’ back, the fountain of blood as he sheared off the end of it. Rats ripping people apart in the streets by torchlight. Could feel the stone urn cold and hard against his back. The burning agony in his lower left side.

And also, fur brushing against his hands, raised in defense (when had he raised them?).

“ _Gregor. Come back._ ”

The screaming, was it quieter? Was that why he could hear a voice now? So out of place among the wailing. He could see, on and off. The rats, a grey tide, feasting on the bodies. Fires raging in the city. Rats, fur alight, burning alive in oil.

_Gregor, it isn’t real, come back. Come back to me._

Like sight, sound faded, out and in from moment to moment. Some times, he swore the screaming was so loud, they might as well have been right next to him. Others, there was only someone’s harsh, heavy breathing echoing in his ears. The stone at his back remained constant; the pain in his left side unfailingly sharp, a brand held in his lungs. He couldn’t breathe.

“Please...” he gasped. Unsure of who he was begging. Or why. “Please, I can’t...”

“ _Gregor._ ”

“...I can’t breathe,” he whispered.

“ _Yes, you can. It’s not real, Gregor, it’s in your head._ ” Fur shifted under his hands and slid through his fingers. Hitched slightly when his fingertips met a thick scar and were pulled across it, then another like it. He could hear barely any screaming now. “ _Come back, Gregor. It’s just a memory._ ”

“It’s so real,” he confided hoarsely. Like he’d been choking on smoke. The thick stink of sulfuric gas, the reek of burning fur and flesh. Torches falling like stars, the terrible cries as the rats burned like bonfires. The nauseous terror of watching them flail and twitch. The horror when they stopped.

“ _I know._ ” A thick coat of fur pressed up under his hands, pushed him against the stone, I know it seems bringing a familiar scent without any know it seems trace of scorch or char. “ _I know it seems real._ ” Something nudged his face - hard. “ _It’s not. It’s not real. I’m here. This is real, me. I’m here._ ”

“You...” he croaked. Something prompted him to bury his hands in the fur. He leaned forward into it - her - breathing deeply. The pain in his side waned. (If it had ever been.) “You...”

“ _Me._ ”

And the screaming was gone.

The ache in his side lingered, and he still feared that if he pulled his face from her fur, the smell of charred flesh would hang in the air, but Gregor had enough to smile gently against her flank. “Twitchtip,” he murmured.

“ _That’s me. I’_ m here.”

“You’re here,” Gregor agreed.

“ _I_ am. What about you?”

Gregor paused. After a moment, he nodded slowly. “Could be better,” he said, “But I’m here, too.”

“Good.” Her relief was palpable. “Feel up to moving yet?”

Gregor nodded again. The wall of fur between him in the world pulled away; for a moment, he almost leaned forward to follow it, wanting the protection it provided.

Blinking away the light, Gregor found himself sitting in an abandoned corridor in what was pretty obviously Regalia. It looked vaguely familiar; Gregor and Twitchtip used it on occasion for their walks around the palace, mostly because so few people walked it regularly. The stone at his back wasn’t one of the stone urns that sat on the High Hall balcony, but rather the stone of the wall Gregor braced against. Nothing burned, save for the torches at the far end of the hall. No one screamed.

Twitchtip moved around him and crouched against his left side. Her ears were pulled back against her head, and her tail twitched nervously. “Flashback?” she said, gentle.

Gregor almost choked on his bitter chuckling. “Flashback,” he agreed, letting his head fall back against the wall.

“Bad one this time,” Twitchtip said casually, nose twitching. “You were out for an hour, minimum. What was it?”

“Mm.” Hazard would probably be wondering where he was; Gregor promised to play checkers with him yesterday. He couldn’t really bring himself to care. “The battle in Regalia, when my ribs got dislocated.”

Twitchtip frowned. “...any idea what set it off?” Gregor shook his head.

“Probably nothing. I just wish it’d stop happening.”

“...ready to get up?”

“Sure. Why not.”

The routine came easily. Gregor braced a hand on Twitchtip’s back - his left side, where he was weak - and together with her supporting him pushed himself up off the ground. His ribs twinged mutinously, but subsided in the end. It took a second for him to find his feet, but when he did, his knees didn’t threaten to dump him, which was lucky. Sometimes after an attack, he’d stand up, only to crumple right back down. Twitchtip pressed against his legs anyway. After a moment, he could even give her a smile for it.

“Thank you,” he said.

Twitchtip snorted. “Don’t thank me. Bonds are supposed do this stuff,” she grumbled. Gregor’s smile became a grin - a real one.

“Yeah, okay,” said Gregor. Twitchtip gave him a look, but didn’t press it.

“Ready to keep going?” she said.

“Ready,” he said.

They walked. The halls were fairly deserted in this part of the palace, which was nice. Chances were, Gregor probably looked like death badly warmed over right now. His stomach roiled with stubborn nausea, and his eyes felt gritty. “...they’ll stop eventually,” Twitchtip said.

Gregor grimaced. “It’s been a year already. Eventually needs to come a little sooner.” He was aiming to make a joke out of it, but his voice fell short of it, wistful and bleak in all the wrong ways.

Twitchtip glanced at him - probably noticed that he was still limping a little, favoring his left - and pushed up under his hand. “It’ll happen,” Twitchtip mumbled, “You just have to be patient.”

“Hmph,” Gregor said, unimpressed.

“It will,” she retorted, then gentled. “...and until it does, I’ll be here.”

Gregor looked at her; he looked away a minute later to hide his smile. “Same for you,” he murmured.

(And it had never been easier to breathe.)

 

 


End file.
